Woman On Board
by kyrenora
Summary: No curse AU. Emma Swan grew up as an orphan and a pickpocket in the Enchanted Forest. When she accidentally steals from the Evil Queen and needs to make herself scarce, she secures a place on the Jolly Roger by posing as a boy to take on the role of a cabin boy.
1. Chapter 1

Emma didn't have many options. As an orphan, there was no one in her life to look out for her. She had to do it herself. For years, she'd subsisted as an ordinary street rat, stealing what she could to scrape by. She had been more than lucky to find herself employed at the tavern some months back. The owner, Robin, had unexpectedly taken pity on her when he'd caught her attempting to steal scraps of bread from his kitchen.

Her role as a serving wench and cleaning girl was not particularly enjoyable, but she had been given comfortable chambers and regular meals in exchange for her labor. She even earned small wages as well. It really seemed to be the best life that she could hope for. Still, she had always had a stubborn, rebellious streak inside her, and she refused to believe that these meager accommodations were all she would ever have. That was what persuaded her to continue to pick a pocket from time to time, despite Robin's unceasing hospitality. Having once lived that life himself, he even looked the other way when she did it, though he didn't condone it. As long as she was subtle, and only took carefully from those who could spare it, he would not put her out.

Everything changed after that night she robbed the huntsman. How was Emma supposed to know that the standoffish man was carrying property of the Evil Queen Regina? He didn't look well-groomed enough to be one of her personal servants, with his long curly hair and scruffy beard. All she knew was that his fur cloak over expertly crafted armor suggested he wouldn't miss the purse he carried. It wasn't until he had come back seeking what he'd lost that she'd found out that the purse was not his to begin with.

Robin had covered for her, thankfully, but he called her into the kitchen that night during a slow moment.

"I can't keep you anymore, Emma." He sighed, wiping his hands with a rag. "I've let you get away with it for this long, but you stole from the queen. I can't keep taking the risk. There's a reason I straightened out my life."

That reason was his son, his family. His wife had passed away not long after the child's birth, and Robin was all that the boy had. Emma swallowed hard. She knew all too well what the world was like without family, and she would not put theirs in jeopardy. Robin had been so generous with her, she would not beg him for another chance.

Instead, she nodded curtly. "I understand."

"I'll pay you for your shift tonight to put some coin in your pocket, but I'll need you gone by the morrow."

Tears of frustration burned behind her eyes, but she would not shed them. "I'll be gone by first light." She had no inkling of where she might go, but she would not fight him on this. He was being fair, so for once, she would not argue. Besides, she had always landed on her feet before, she could do it again. She didn't know how yet, but it would happen. She would figure it out.

Sure enough, her opportunity came swaggering through the door later that night.

* * *

It was like any tavern in any port. They had traded goods for gold and restocked the ship. Now it was time to let the ale flow freely and allow his men to find the pleasures they lacked at sea. The captain seated himself at one of the back tables with a few of his crew, making sure to take a seat where he could see the door. He called out an order to the man behind the bar as his first mate slammed a pair of dice down on the table.

"Care to lose your share of the take, Captain?" Jack Connors asked with a cocky grin.

They made quite the sight, he knew. Though the tavern was obviously frequented by sailors, none of the groups in the crowd were quite so boisterous as his. Crowds parted for them in the streets, warily eying the hook at the end of his left arm. Some had heard of his reputation, he was sure, but many could sense without prior warning the danger that radiated off of him. He could scare a man off with a smile.

He flashed his teeth at his crewman now. "I think I'd rather take some of yours, mate." He scooped the dice up in his long, ringed fingers, and shook them in his palm. He casually dropped them back to the worn, wooden table, raising an eyebrow at Connors when winning numbers showed. The man cursed under his breath as he retrieved a coin from his person and threw it down beside the dice.

"One of these days, Captain, your luck is going to fail you."

"Perhaps, but that day is clearly not today."

As he said it, his gaze darted over the pretty young thing that was approaching their table, carrying their drinks on a tray. She was dressed simply, in a brown linen skirt with a copper-toned bodice and flowing white sleeves, but somehow that made her shine all the brighter. No cosmetics adorned her porcelain face, and her sunlight hair was tied back haphazardly with two braids forming a halo around her crown.

"Have a seat, love." He gestured toward his knee with his hook as she unloaded her tray. "Join us in a toast."

She didn't sit, but she did lean forward flirtatiously as she asked him "What are we toasting?"

He licked his lips absentmindedly as he took a moment to appreciate the sight of the soft rounds of her chest. He grabbed the rum glass in front of Connors and handed it over to her. He glanced over at his first mate's face, watching him struggle not to react. "To the spoils of victory!" He proclaimed loudly enough for the entire tavern to hear him. A cheer went up from his men while others around them turned in their seats to see the commotion.

The girl raised the glass that was now hers before tipping it back and pouring the amber liquid down her throat. The captain admired the long lines of her neck before downing his own drink. She winked a green eye at him before she sauntered off without another word.

Most women would not have walked away from a man like him, and he found himself unused to her response. A lesser man would have chased after her. Captain Hook was no such man. He would let her come back to him.

She appeared each time they ordered another round. She smiled sweetly and batted her lashes at him, but ignored his invitations to join them. Still, she didn't seem to mind when he laid his charms on her. It certainly didn't look like she was having trouble keeping up with the orders in the crowded tavern. She practically danced between the tables, moving gracefully on light feet.

When he ducked away to use the tavern's facilities, he found her feet were silent as well. She made only the slightest sound, but it was enough. Instinct took over as he heard someone sneaking behind him, and he spun, seizing her wrist and pinning it to the wall behind her.

"It's you," he realized, loosening his grip, but not releasing her.

"Emma." She told him, completely unfazed.

"Emma, then. I take it you wanted to see me privately, or we would be having this exchange at my table." He leaned in closer, and saw as her lips parted. "I wonder why?"

She cleared her throat. "The men with you, they call you 'Captain.'"

"Aye. Captain Hook, at your service. What of it?"

"You have a ship?"

"As a good captain should. The _Jolly Roger_ , she's called." He let her arm drop, taking a step backward. "Where's this going, lass?"

"Take me with you." She didn't blink. The girl actually meant it.

"It's not a passenger vessel." He started to turn, to head back toward his table, but she darted in front of him, blocking his path.

"I can pay you," she blurted out. "Please. I have to get out of here."

That gave him pause. Payment was always tempting, but it didn't seem a girl like her could have _that_ much coin to her name, at least not enough to board his ship without him knowing more. "Bad luck to have a woman on board." Or at least it had been, when he had ignored the superstition in the past. He wasn't going to make that mistake again. As much as he enjoyed making himself of use to a damsel in distress, it wasn't worth the risk.

He lowered his voice as he stepped toward her again. "Have you heard of me or my ship, love? Do you know which flag we sail under? We fly the crimson flag. Do you know what that means?"

She nodded. "Pirates."

"Pirates who give no quarter," he corrected. "My ship is no place for a girl like you."

"You don't know what I'm like."

"I know you think you've got mettle. I'm sure you've seen your share of brawls here in this tavern, or maybe in the streets." He closed the last of the distance between them to whisper in her ear. "But have you ever watched a man die, love? Have you ever seen the light go out in a pair of eyes as blood drips from a body in front of you?"

Her breath caught audibly in her throat, and she didn't answer.

"I thought not," he breathed before pushing past her.

"If I were a boy, would you take me?" She called after him.

"Aye," he shot back over his shoulder. "I'd put you to work. I could use a new cabin boy."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Wow, I'm amazed at how many people have already read this story. I hope everyone is enjoying it as much as those who have given feedback! I want to send out a big "thank you" to those who are reviewing, following, and adding this to their favorites!**

 **I have some good ideas of where _Woman On Board_ is going to go, but mostly I just thought its concept would be a fun one to write with. Please let me know what you think!**

* * *

Emma rose before the sun did. She had told Robin she would be gone by the first light, and she intended to keep that promise. She had slept for less than two hours, but she had stayed up to carry out her plans after all the tavern's customers had filtered out into the streets or into their rented rooms. She still had to finish the last of her preparations before she could be out the door.

Through sleep-fogged eyes, she gazed at the interior of her wardrobe, looking over her bodices, her gowns, and petticoats one last time. She gathered the simple jewelery she had into a small purse and stashed it in the one satchel she would leave with. Anything she couldn't easily trade would have no value where she was going. Robin would be able to sell off most of what she was leaving behind, she told herself. She didn't have the time to do it before departing, and she felt she owed him for his generosity.

Drunken sailors had a way of misplacing their possessions, and she was thankful for that fact now. Robin kept a full crate of these items from the tavern and inn, but hardly anyone ever came to reclaim anything. After sailing off, how could they? Emma had been able to find most of what she needed in there, but she did end up pilfering one pair of knee breeches from Robin. She left him a silver coin in exchange, which was more than a new pair would cost.

She saw more sailors of a reputable variety than she did pirates, but she knew their garb. The breeches weren't quite what a cabin boy would wear, but she would have to make do. She pulled them on over old, knit stockings. The breeches were too big for her slender form, but that was all the better. She didn't want anything to reveal the shape of her figure.

Now came the complicated part. With lengths of cut linen and much uncertain fumbling, she bound her breasts down to her ribs. It took her several tries, but finally she was able to convince herself they were flat enough. Still, she was thankful that her shirt did not fit too tightly. She swung her arms around her sides a few times to make sure that the wrap was secure. Everything stayed in place.

She lined her eyes with kohl as she'd seen many of the seamen do. To complete the effect, she opened a container of tar that she'd found, smudging it onto her hands and face. For the first time in her life, she begrudged her lack of calluses. If anyone saw the smooth skin of her palms, they would know she was not truly a sailor. She would simply have to keep them hidden until they roughened up.

She paused at that thought, then shook her head. She didn't plan on staying aboard that long. As soon as they reached the next port, probably, she would disembark and begin her new life. She had worked her way up from the streets before. She could do it again. What was important right now was putting as much distance as she could between her and Robin's family.

Glaring at the purse that had caused so much trouble, Emma wondered (not for the first time) why she'd told Robin she'd already sold it off. Something about it had called to her, and she couldn't bring herself to part with it just yet. She palmed it and tugged its drawstring open. Her fingers slipped inside the pouch to fondle the gems and jewelry inside. A ring of twisted gold caught on her nail, and she tried it on for size. The items were beautiful, and would fetch Emma a pretty penny, but she couldn't imagine what the queen wanted with them. Surely, she had full chests of larger stones.

Emma replaced the ring and closed the purse back up, stuffing it next to the pouch of her own jewelry, which paled in comparison, but would still fetch her some coin. What she had packed was purely practical. She carried nothing of sentimental value, because she had none. She slung the bag over her shoulder and took one last look in the mirror, tying her hair back and attempting to shove it up under her hat.

It wouldn't fit. There was too much of it. No matter which way she tried to pin it to her head, she simply could not get the hat to settle correctly on top of it. With a heavy sigh, she dropped her satchel and threw the hat down on her mattress. She found her pair of shears nearby and steeled herself, taking in her reflection.

When she was little, she had imagined having a mother who would stroke and brush her long golden locks. It had never been a reality, of course, but sometimes when she was falling asleep, she could almost feel a loving hand on her temple.

It had to go. The illusion had to be complete. With a sharp inhale, she hacked into the first handful of hair, then watched the strands fall to the ground. There was no turning back. At the end, the hair she had left fell in a short shaggy mop around her ears. The cut was choppy and uneven, but it would serve. Taking up her hat and bag again, she admired her handiwork. She couldn't even recognize herself. There was no way that anyone else would. Anyone who saw her on her path would see a teenage boy bound for the docks.

She didn't bother with goodbyes, preferring to slip out noiselessly.

The harbor was about halfway full, so she had to read the names on the back of the vessels she passed until she found what she was looking for. The _Jolly Roger_ was not the biggest ship there, but it wasn't the smallest, either. It was better cared for than most, it appeared. While some of the ships in the yard were worn and barnacled with peeling paint, the _Jolly Roger_ boasted a hull of shining deep blues striped with lines of bright yellow. Even as she looked on, men were aboard scrubbing the ship's decks.

"Oi! You there!"

Emma looked up to see a portly man in a red knit cap staring down at her from the stern.

"Why are you lurking about?" He demanded.

She cleared her throat, and tried to speak in lower, rougher tones than her natural voice. "Heard your ship needed a new cabin boy. I'm here to offer my services."

His eyes narrowed skeptically. "Aren't you a little old for the job?"

"I'm fifteen," she lied. Any male her true age would already have sprouted a beard. Saying she was younger would be the best excuse for why the skin on her cheeks was so smooth.

The man considered her for a moment, before shouting back over his shoulder. "Captain!"

"What is it, Mr. Smee?" The captain's tall, dark, leather-clad form came into view, his hand resting casually on the hilt of the sword in his scabbard. He wore the same scarlet vest he had the night before. Her heart skipped a beat when his piercing blue eyes met hers. His black brows furrowed, and she was sure he would recognize her. After all, he'd gotten a close look at her just the previous night. Still, he said nothing and gave no hint that he'd ever seen her before.

"This boy is looking to sign up for the life, sir. Heard we had an open spot."

Captain Hook cocked an eyebrow. "Is that so? How old are you, lad?"

"Fifteen," she repeated it confidently, but it didn't seem as though he believed her. Perhaps she was just being paranoid.

"You ever worked on a ship before?"

"No sir." She couldn't lie about that one. Although she was a quick learner, it would be obvious at first that she really didn't know what she was supposed to be doing. If the crew caught her in one lie, they may start to suspect the others. She didn't want to give them any obvious reasons to distrust her. "But I've always liked them. I've heard about you and your ship, Captain, sir. They tell tales about Captain Hook and the _Jolly Roger_."

"And? What do you think, lad?"

"I think I'd like to serve on board, sir."

He threw his head back as he laughed, showing her his sharp profile. "Now there's a good answer. What's your name?"

"Emerson, sir."

"Emerson." He drew out the syllables of her pseudonym, his eyes sparkling. "Smee, help the lad on board and show him where he'll be sleeping. We cast off in an hour."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** **Writing this story is coming along a lot faster than I thought it would. There are over 3000 words in the first two chapters alone! I guess getting the positive feedback I have has really inspired me to write more quickly. I'm still setting up the story at this point, and I'm hoping that all my readers so far will stick around until it gets good. Another big "thank you" should go out to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and added this story as a favorite. Keep it coming, guys!**

* * *

Once the ship was underway and the ocean spread out before her bow, the captain had the newest member of his crew brought up to him where he stood at the helm. He looked down at the young blonde. He'd had his suspicions before, but now with a closer inspection, he was certain. Emerson and Emma were one and the same. The resemblance was too perfect – the shapely lips, the full cheeks and high cheekbones, those dark lashes. It was possible that she had a brother, but he would find it odd if a brother were to leave his sister behind after she had been the one to beg for passage. He also doubted that even a sibling could look so similar.

He had to admire her gumption. Even in her disguise, she looked him dead in the eye as she awaited instruction. She was committed, he would give her that. He thought he had scared her off with his talk of the red flag, but here she was, resolute and ready to carry out his command.

"Listen up lad, you'll only get this lesson once." The captain barked out over the sound of the wind and waves. It would be easier to go along with her charade than reveal to his men that their new addition was a female. It might save her trouble, too. Part of the reason that women were unlucky at sea was because they distracted the men from their duties. He would make sure that didn't happen. "On a sailing vessel at sea, the captain is king. You will follow my orders at all costs, or you will be punished. After myself, you report to the first mate, Mr. Connors. Immediately below him ranks Mr. Smee, the boatswain. As a cabin boy, you are not a sailor, though you will work the rigging when we need you to. You are a servant. You will do whatever needs doing and answer to whoever calls. Do you understand?"

She nodded curtly.

"You will assist in the galley. You will swab the decks daily. You will bring me my meals in my cabin. You will also train beneath the other members of the crew to pick up their skills. If you have the strength, we'll train you as a gunner. If not, you're still small enough to serve as a powder monkey during battle. Have you had any practice with a sword?"

"No, Captain. I held one a few times, and I'm a quick study." Her jaw set in sharp determination.

"You will be taught. And you _will_ learn quickly, or you are apt to die aboard." He searched her face, but she did not flinch or recoil. Her conviction brought a smile to the corners of his lips. This speech had left many a boy shaking in his boots by now. Emma had more grit than almost any he had seen. Only Baelfire had shown as much spirit as she did now, and the captain had been less harsh with him.

When the wind blew her shirt against her torso, he could see the outline of the knot she'd used on the binding she wore beneath. That would not do if she wanted to keep up the pretense. Someone else was bound to notice. "The swordplay will wait, however. First thing, let's make sure you know how to tie a proper knot. Smee! Fetch us a length of rope!"

The boatswain nodded and disappeared from sight, only to reappear with an old, frayed line. The captain had Connors replace him at the wheel before he pulled Emma – _Emerson,_ he reminded himself – aside for a brief lesson.

* * *

He saw that she had made good use of his teachings that evening when she brought in his meal. When she leaned down to place his food on the table, the shirt lay flat against her back. "Will there be anything else, Captain?" She asked as she straightened.

"Bring your own supper." He gestured to the chair across from him. "And join me while I eat. I want to know more about this boy I've allowed onto my ship."

She was back in mere moments, appearing timid for the first time. She cast a cautious look at him as she seated herself on the other side of the table. He considered telling her that he was aware of her secret, but that would be no fun. Besides, he enjoyed knowing the inner workings of all his crew, the buttons he could press if he so required. He also wouldn't mind watching her squirm a bit.

"What's your surname, Emerson?" Countless games of poker had taught him how to read a face, and he studied her features for signs of deceit. He wondered how much of what she would tell him would be truth, and how much would be part of the persona she had fabricated.

"Swan, sir." She didn't look up from her plate. Without seeing her eyes, he could not assess the validity of her claim.

"And what's your story, lad? Let me hear of your life," he instructed.

She told him the story of a lonely orphan, living on the streets as a pickpocket. He saw no tell of a lie, but her gaze still did not meet his. It could be an honest tale, or she could simply be a good actress. Either way, she fascinated him.

"Have you always wanted to be a pirate?" He inquired.

"I always wanted to be free, Captain." At last, she glanced up to see his reaction, and he knew her words were nothing but truth. His heart skipped a beat at the sentiment. It was why he had fallen in love with the ocean, with his ship. Out here, he answered to no one. He was under no one's control, a king in his own right.

"Aye. You've found the right place, then. No one's freer than a pirate." His ship did have rules about the behavior of crewmen, however. He began to outline them for her so she would know what was expected of her conduct. He recited the list from memory as he always did, and saw her blush when he got to the part where he stated that only the captain was allowed to bring women back to the ship when they were in port.

"Ever been with a woman, Emerson?" He asked just to watch the red of her face deepen. Now there was a pleasant thought – Emma's lithe little body sweating and writhing beneath the mouth of another woman. _Or his mouth._ He shook the thought away.

"N-no, Captain." She stammered.

"Perhaps that will be remedied when we next make port."

She didn't answer, but shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she poked at the remnants of her meal with her fork.

"Would you like that?"

"I wouldn't know, sir."

He laughed, rising and making for his rum cabinet. Inside, he located two tumblers and a glass bottle. He set them down on the table and poured.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Wow, I'm really hoping that I can keep up this pace! I've posted three chapters in three days! I've just been so motivated by such a positive response. It's truly overwhelming. It's absolutely incredible seeing views streaming in from all over the world. Please, keep it coming, guys! As usual, I want to thank everyone who has been keeping up and giving feedback. This started out as nothing more than a fun exercise, but you're what's keeping me going full-throttle.**

 **At this point, the story's going to start working toward earning its M rating.**

* * *

She stumbled into her quarters, swaying from both drink and waves, and she accidentally slammed her knee into the bunk. She cursed under her breath as she rubbed the spot where a bruise would be sure to form. On land, her cabin would be considered no more than a closet, but at sea, she was lucky to have a door for privacy. Most of the crewmen slept in hammocks in a shared space, but a cabin boy needed to be kept closer to the captain's quarters.

Even though she was alone, Emma kept her bindings on underneath her shirt. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but it was the safer option. She didn't know if someone might wake her in the night to carry out some urgent chore, and she couldn't afford to be caught with her guard down. She had no idea what the men of the rogue crew might do to her if she were found out.

Her plan of keeping to herself had failed when she had been asked to dine with the captain, but it seemed she had managed to convince him that she was who she said she was. If he had been taken by her act, then she was sure that the rest of the crew would be convinced as well. She could already tell that Captain Hook was the most shrewd and cunning man aboard. He was the challenge, and she had passed his test. The rest of the men would fall in line behind him.

She'd seen throughout the day that they served under him with the utmost respect – a perfect combination of both fear and love for the man. He'd been kind to her, personally showing her how to tie a rope. She was even able to improve her bindings using one of the knots he had shown her, using his single hand and his teeth to dexterously wrap and pull the line. However, he'd also detailed the various punishments for breaking the laws he had set down. The best a rule breaker could hope for was being put off the ship at the next port. Beyond that, men could face marooning, walking the plank, the brig, lashings, or even keelhauling. She could tell from the dark glimmer in his eyes as he'd described these methods that he had reprimanded men in all these ways before, and would not hesitate to do it again. His rules may have been fair, but he would be ruthless to those who operated outside of them.

Emma shuddered, remembering the feel of his dangerous aura. It was what had drawn her to him in the first place. She had known he was a pirate from the instant he'd entered through the tavern door. Sure, she could have attempted to secure passage on any vessel in the harbor. It may have been easier to pay her way with the little coin she had, but law-abiding captains were prone to asking questions she wasn't willing to answer. She knew what she was – a thief, a criminal. She fit better here than she would on any other ship. Here on the _Jolly Roger_ , no one would bother her about why she wanted to leave. Plenty of orphan boys found work on the docks and at sea. No one would have to know that she was any different.

It wasn't just the danger of him that made him attractive to her, she had to admit. She couldn't deny that the man exuded the very essence of sex. Closing her eyelids, she pictured him now, with his bright eyes and that dark hair, the sun-reddened scruff on his cheeks. She could see the hair on his chest, exposed by the open buttons on his shirt, and her hand unconsciously migrated beneath the laces of her breeches. She imagined what that hair would feel like, brushing against the tender skin of her unbound breasts. She pretended that it was his hand stroking at her center as she remembered the smell of him when he'd bent down to whisper in her ear, the lust in his gaze when he'd had her pinned up against the wall in the tavern. She wondered what it would have been like if she'd held back her request, and instead she'd lifted her skirts and had let him have his way with her right there.

She bit down on her tongue to keep from crying out as pleasure rolled through her body.

* * *

"You held a sword before, boy?" Mr. Quinn demanded, spinning the wooden practice sword around in his hand. He had his shirt off, but was still sweating under the heat of the midday ocean sun, as was Emma, but she needed all her clothing to keep her hidden.

A droplet rolled down her back. "Few times," she insisted, squeezing her fingers around the hilt of her own practice sword. "But I never fought with one."

"Clearly."

She heard the _thwack_ and felt sharp pain radiating from her wrist. Her sword clattered on the deck as she held her now throbbing hand to her chest. She winced when she moved her thumb, but at least it moved. That meant it wasn't broken.

"Well?" Quinn gestured down at the length of wood. "Pick it up."

She did as he bid, keeping her eyes fixed on him.

"Hold it right. Like this. It's got to be part of you. You drop your sword in battle, you're dead."

Her jaw tightened in frustration. It was easier said than done. She glanced up toward the helm and saw the captain watching them as he steered. She had to do this. She could not show weakness. When Quinn tried to knock at her hand again, she pulled it back and heard the crack of wood against wood. This time her grip did not falter, and she held tight.

"Better."

The fake swords met several times more before he seemed convinced that he wasn't going to break her hold again. That was when his blow came down from above. She didn't block it in time, and it came slamming down onto her shoulder. She let out a yelp.

"Where's your head, you bloody bastard?" Quinn shouted at her. "Protect yourself."

She bit down on her cheek hard to avoid yelling back that she was trying. He'd given her no warning, but she wouldn't get that from an enemy combatant, either. She kept her retorts to herself. Squaring her shoulders despite the pain, she readied herself for the next attack. It came swiftly, and this time she managed to dodge.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the captain smirk before the wooden sword came smashing into her side and the wind went out of her.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: I created the file for this chapter only 48 hours after the first chapter. I don't think I've ever written so fast in my life. (Except for possibly some coffee-fueled all-nighters in college.) I'm overjoyed that so many people are reading, and apparently _enjoying_ this story! I am beyond thankful for the feedback I'm getting, and that so many people are following and adding this to their favorites.**

 **I want to say sorry for this chapter taking a little longer. I was hoping to get it posted this morning, but it turned out a bit longer than I had originally planned and was a little more complicated to write. I wasn't sure at first how far to go with the second half of this chapter. I'll warn you, if you're not a fan of literary violence, you may want to skip that part.**

* * *

He had dined with her again that night. He wanted to see how she was doing after the beating she had taken during her first swordplay lesson. Her movements had slowed noticeably, but she had made no complaint in his company. Now, he could hear her through the wall, whimpering as she shifted restlessly in her bunk. Part of him wanted to go to her, to examine her bruises and give her comfort in whatever way he could. That wasn't something he'd do for any man on his ship, though. If she wanted to pose as a boy, then he would treat her like one. Besides, Her wounds would help her learn.

He would have to teach her footwork personally. Quinn could swing a blade as well as any other man, but he couldn't dodge and weave the way the captain suspected Emma would be able to after some coaching and practice. Her feet were quick and nimble. She might not have the strength of a larger man, but if she was fast enough, that might not matter.

On the other side of the thin wall, Emma's breath was loud, raggedy, and uneven. Every so often he would hear her shuffle and whine, trying to find a position that would allow her to avoid the pain. Maybe he was going soft, but eventually he couldn't take it anymore. He pounded on the wall between them.

"Emerson, come in here." He instructed. For a moment, he heard nothing as she stilled. Then, her feet padded onto the floor and he heard her door open. He threw off the woolen blanket that covered him and rolled out of his own bunk, reaching the cabinet just as she entered. "You're keeping me up, lad." He located the green glass jar he sought near the back, the cork on its top lightly coated with dust, despite its containment. It had been a long time since he had needed it. Taking it up, he turned to hand it to her, and saw that her eyes were frozen wide.

"You – you can hear me in there?" She stammered.

He tried to hide his smile at the unasked part of her question. He had heard her the prior night as well, her muffled moans making him strain against his laces until he had taken himself in hand. He'd managed to resist the urge to go to her, to take over her ministrations and find his pleasure in her instead of alone in his own bed.

"Aye," he responded. "This will help." He held the ointment out to her. "It will numb your pain if you spread it on the bruises."

She did not reach for it. Instead, her gaze flickered over him warily, lingering for a moment on his bare chest. He smirked as she nervously licked at her lips. Before he had a chance to think about it, he had stepped toward her. To give the movement a pretense, he lifted her wounded hand. She jerked to pull it away, but he held insistently. He placed her hand firmly on what remained of his left forearm. His hook lay beneath his pillow alongside a pistol for the night, and he carefully examined her reaction to his stump. He expected to see either pity or revulsion, but saw nothing more than acknowledgment. It sparked in him a certain tenderness for her.

"How bad is it?" He asked softly, flicking the cork out of the jar with his thumb. The smell of mint swirled around them.

"I'm fine, Captain." She swallowed.

"If that were true, we would not be standing here right now, but this will be our little secret. No one else will know that you were weeping like a girl in your cabin."

"I wasn't–"

"Hush." He cut her off, pleased he'd gotten a rise out of her. "Don't argue with your captain. Still works then, does it?"

Nodding, Emma flexed and wiggled her fingers, but he noticed her jaw clench tighter as she did so. Pressing the jar between his elbow and his side, he dipped his fingers into it and began to smear the grease over her wrist, massaging it into her skin as gently as he could. He heard her breathe a sigh of relief, and his manhood stirred at the sound.

"Is that better?" His voice came out rougher than he meant to.

"Yes, thank you, Captain." Her defenses had slipped, and he heard her natural voice dripping from her lips rather than the lower note she'd been pretending at. He wondered if he could make her forget herself completely.

His hand reached for the curve where her neck met her shoulder, and his thumb began to rub soft and lazy circles over the dark purple that had spread there. Her eyes drifted shut as she melted into his touch. Whether it was the pads of his fingers or the cooling ointment she reacted to, he wasn't sure. A whispering exhale escaped her parted lips. He worked beneath the collar of her shirt, over the round of her shoulder and down to her collarbone.

"And that?" He asked lowly. "How does that feel?"

"Amazing." She replied breathlessly.

"Show me the rest," he suggested, voice growing unintentionally husky with the thought of running his hand down her side and over her bare hip.

Her eyes shot open as she stepped away, and he knew he had pushed his luck too far. "I can take it from here, Captain. Thank you." She took the jar from his elbow and retrieved the cap from where it lay on the floor. She was halfway out the door when she turned her head back to him. "I'll keep quiet so you can sleep, sir." Then she was gone.

The captain ran a heavy hand over his face in frustration.

* * *

They had been out on the water four days when quarry was finally spotted. "Ship ahoy!" The call came down from the crow's nest. Holding one of the the wheel's spokes in the round of his hook, the captain pulled his spyglass from the breast pocket inside his coat.

"She's at four o'clock, Captain." Mr. Murray shouted from above.

Focusing the lens on the proper spot on the horizon, Hook found the sails and spotted the colors she flew. He felt the anger rise within him and his lips lashed into a predatory grin. The ship and everything on board belonged to King George, but not for long.

"We going after her, Cap?" Smee's unsteady voice asked from behind him.

"Did you have any doubt, Mr. Smee?" Returning his scope to his pocket, the captain's hand found the helm again. "Coming about, men!" He yelled out over the deck, spinning the wheel. "Hard to starboard!"

It took another half a day before they caught up to her, but there wasn't a ship in all the realm that could outrun the _Jolly Roger_. When they finally drew up beside her, within range, the captain ordered the colors raised. His blood was already boiling as his crimson flag unfurled. He had sworn a vow that he would make the king pay for what he had done, one ship at a time. This one boasted the name _Blushing Maiden_ across her stern in golden letters, and Captain Hook was going to take her.

"Fire!" He roared out the order, raising his drawn sword to the sky, and the blast of his cannons shattered the peace of the ocean. Wooden shrapnel exploded from the other vessel's hull, and he watched her sailors scramble to battle stations, but it was already too late. The element of surprise was on the _Jolly Roger's_ side as usual, and her guns were reloaded and firing again before her prey had ample time to react.

One of the _Maiden's_ masts came crashing into the waves, breaking under the force of the chain shot. Holes ripped through her sails and pierced her hull once again. She was severely crippled now, helpless, and dead in the water, but she wasn't going to go down without a fight, it seemed. Her cannons fired in retaliation, but the balls splashed into the ocean's depths behind the stern of the _Jolly_. Still, they sealed the fates of every man on her decks. She tried to turn, but she was large and unwieldy.

The _Jolly_ was on her other side almost instantly, and the third volley of her cannons ripped into flesh and sent bodies flying off the _Maiden's_ deck. This time, Captain Hook heard screams resonating across the water. It was time.

"Ready the gangplanks!" He set the wheel of the _Jolly_ and passed the helm on to Connors. Before the planks were down, he was leaping between the decks, his sword already slashing as his boots hit wood. His strike was met with a metal clang, but he quickly disarmed the man before him, then ran him through. His crew were streaming onto the _Maiden_ behind him. The din of battle began to hammer the air around them, and he felt his nerves singing with the adrenaline. He lived for this.

Splashes of blood and sailors' bodies hit down on the deck, dying the boards the color of Hook's flag. Some of the navy men leapt into the waves rather than face the blades of Hook's crew. They would die longer, slower deaths that way, unaided in the clutches of the sea. He would not be leaving a refuge behind for them when he was done.

The takeover was quick, but brutal. It was mere minutes before there was only one of the king's men left on the _Maiden_. He cowered against the helm, a stain of piss on his breeches. Hook's nose wrinkled in disgust as he approached the coward. The man threw down his sword as Hook stepped over a leg that had torn free of one of the navy men under the chain shot.

Hook sheathed his own sword to grab the poor excuse for a man by the collar and pull him up to his full height.

"Mercy, mercy!" The yellow-belly pleaded.

Hot blood sprayed in the captain's eyes as he slashed at the man's throat with his hook.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Please, please, _please_ keep the feedback coming, guys! I love hearing what you think of my work, whether it's good or bad. I use any criticism I get, whether positive or negative, to improve my writing. So, if you have anything at all to say, please let me know! Thanks to everyone who keeps reading!**

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Emma looked down the barrel of the cannon and saw the flames began to lick at the steadily reddening sky. She heard boots and crates slamming on the deck above her. The ship beside them jerked and began to float away.

"Let's move out of here before that fire hits her powder room." The captain's chuckle sounded down, and she knew it was safe to head up again. The battle was over and they were the victors. Of course, it hadn't been much less dangerous in on the gun deck. At least here, no one was aiming their blows toward her. It was only the rolling weight of iron that she had to fear.

She had followed Murray's instructions as if by instinct. She had already been shown the basic mechanics of the ship's guns, and she had managed to recall all the terminology under pressure. Her senses had become heightened in the urgency of crisis, and she had to admit she was feeling proud of herself. Sharing the sentiment, Murray slapped a hand on her back, laughing, and she froze, hoping that he could not feel her bindings. He didn't seem to notice, gesturing toward the ladder with a broad grin. He followed her to the upper level.

When she caught sight of the men who had returned from the boarding party, she froze. Each of them was splattered with blood. Quinn wore a massive gash on his burly chest. The carpenter – _Mr. Clark, was it?_ – had a slice cut into his upper arm. Between the two of them, despite their wounds, they carried a large chest, decorated with golden plating. Her eyes went to the captain, and his brow was dripping with red. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Oi!" Murray gave her foot a shove. "Keep it moving."

She scrambled up the last few steps. The captain was smiling, and walking with his usual swagger. He seemed fine. It wasn't his blood. Her shoulders relaxed as she took another inhale. She could still smell the acrid stench of the gunpowder, mixed with the smoke of the burning _Blushing Maiden_. Quinn and Clark set the chest down behind the captain, and he turned on his heel.

"Let's see what bounty we've come across, mates." He announced before flinging open the lid of the chest. Its innards were filled with gold coin and jewels. He dipped down to run his fingers through the pile, letting the coins drip down onto the deck as he raised his hand again. "Would you look at that? I think we've earned ourselves a night in port."

A cheer went up from the men. Emma joined in, her fist going into the air along with others. Still, there was a slight pang in her chest. She was growing to enjoy life aboard. If they were making for harbor already – would she still leave as she had planned?

 _Yes,_ she decided. She wouldn't be able to keep up her disguise forever. It was time that she moved on. The next time she set foot on land, she would be in her new home, and she would find her way as she always had.

"Emerson." The captain's voice snapped her attention from her thoughts. "Come here."

All eyes were on her as she stepped meekly toward the captain. He snatched a necklace out of the chest and shoved it into her hands. It was made of beaded gold, and featured a sapphire as long as her thumb, surrounded by diamonds. Its length was smeared with blood.

"You ever held anything so exquisite, lad? Ever pick anything like that out of a pocket?"

Even the queen's jewels were not so large as this, the golden ring not as heavy as this was. As she fondled it, the black of the gunpowder on her hands mixed with sticky scarlet. "No, Captain. Not like this," she told him. "Nothing like this."

* * *

The captain was one of the first to go ashore when they had secured a mooring a week later. He and two of the men had rowed ashore in a dinghy with a sample of their loot to find a buyer. The rest of the crew stayed aboard and entertained themselves. Emma found herself sparring with Murray on the upper deck. Quinn's wound had kept him from training her even after Clark had sewed it shut, but after what she had witnessed the day they'd taken down the _Maiden_ , she'd been even more eager to improve her skills – just in case. The captain had ordered Murray to step in and continue her lessons.

Murray was smaller than Quinn, and didn't hit as hard, for which Emma was grateful. Though she'd received a few more good bruises from him, they didn't spread like the ones that Quinn had left on her first day with a fake sword, and she no longer worried about broken bones. Murray was harder to read, however. She never knew where his next blow was coming from. One hit her on the back of her head when she saw the rowboat returning across the harbor.

The men parted as the captain came aboard, scowling. He made directly for the hatch that led down to his cabin, heavy boots striding purposefully, and his long coat swinging about his legs. "Emerson," he barked out without looking at her. "With me."

Emma paled. Murray held out his hand to take her practice sword, and she passed it to him clumsily before scampering after their leader.

"Close the hatch, lad." The captain commanded once she was inside his quarters. He seated himself in the chair behind the table, crossing one foot over his knee. She latched it shut before jumping down the last step of the ladder. She swallowed hard, fearing the captain's dark mood and not understanding why she had been the one chosen to suffer his wrath. What had she done? What had happened on land while he was gone?

"I don't believe you've ever told me why you wanted to come on board." His ice-blue eyes were narrow and full of fire as he looked up at her from under his dark brows.

"I – I told you I had always wanted to be free, Captain." She reminded him of what she'd said at their first shared meal.

"Free from what?"

"Well, from everything, I suppose. Just _free_."

His hand and hook went to the back of his head, his elbows spread out past his shoulders as he leaned back in the chair. His posture was casual, and his voice quiet, but she could hear the threat in the lowly spoken words. "It's bad form keeping secrets from your captain."

Emma froze. How much did he know? She dared not open her mouth.

When she didn't respond, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat and retrieved a rolled piece of parchment. He threw it down on the table. For a moment, she was paralyzed, but when he tilted his head toward it in a gesture, her feet padded forward of their own regard and she took the paper in trembling hands. As she unfurled it, her heart dropped into her stomach with a sickening splash.

A rough sketch of her own face looked up at her, long curls rolling over the outline of soft shoulders. _Wanted,_ read the heavy black calligraphy on the poster. _Emma Swan – Dead or Alive_. Slamming her open jaw shut, Emma made a sudden decision. She shook her head. "I don't know this girl, Captain. It's true we share a surname, but–"

"Drop the act, Emma. I know it's you."

Ice poured into her veins as her eyes darted up to meet his, lingering dangerously on her. Twice her heart throbbed in her throat. "You knew?" She gasped out.

The captain stood. His boots thumped on the floor as he took the two steps toward her needed to close the distance between them. "Aye, love." His voice was barely more than a whisper. "I knew."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: This story has already been so much fun to write, and I feel like I'm just getting started. Thank you to everyone who has been following along and giving feedback! I love that other people are enjoying this journey with me. I'm worried that I won't be able to keep up with the demand, but I'm going to continue doing my best!**

 **This chapter is a little bit shorter, but I promise the next one will make up for it!**

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"There's a hefty price on your head," the captain couldn't help but taunt her. "Perhaps I'll turn you in and claim the reward in exchange for your lies." He wouldn't, of course, but she didn't know that.

"Captain?" Fear overtook the green pools of Emma's eyes as they searched his face.

"'Crimes against the queen,' it says." He took the parchment from her shaking fingers and held it up. "I very much like to know what sort of criminals I'm harboring aboard my ship. You told me you were only a pickpocket." If he had known she was a fugitive from the queen, he might have avoided this port and made for land somewhere safer – somewhere farther from the town where she had committed her crimes. He knew perfectly well how to operate outside the law. He just had to know which ones he was skirting around.

"I _am_ a pickpocket!" She insisted, her eyes wide. "Or, I was. I swear to you, I only snatched the wrong purse. I thought he was just a hunter. I didn't know he carried property of the queen."

"Well, whatever you nicked must have sold for a handsome sum to have warranted such a bounty."

"I never sold it." Her short hair brushed at her cheekbones as she shook her head.

He was angry enough to resist pushing the strands out of her face, but allowed the parchment flutter back down to the table, freeing up his hand. "And without informing me, you brought it aboard my ship? Is that what you are telling me? Bloody hell, love. If I need to avoid the Evil Queen's wrath, I would like to at least know about it." He saw the shame spreading across her face, and he softened. "Fetch it here. Let's see it."

As she darted out the door toward her bunk, he collapsed into his chair again, letting his head fall back with a sigh. This wasn't that much of a complication, truly. He knew there were similar posters with his own name and likeness plastered around King George's kingdom. He made his living evading the ire of monarchs. No, he was upset because she lied and he hadn't caught it. He'd been so smug in the knowledge of her identity that he hadn't thought to dig deeper.

He expected her to return with something larger than the velvet pouch she carried in her palm. His elbow on the table, Hook rested his chin on his fist as he watched her pull loose the drawstring. She poured out the contents of the bag onto the surface between them, shimmering trinkets clattering on the polished wood. His brow furrowed as he looked down at the small gems. He brought down his hand to the pile, spreading it beneath his fingers to examine it. "This is it?"

Emma nodded. "That's it."

It couldn't be. The poster offered more than a hundred times what this was worth for Emma's capture, but why? The point of his hook slipped into the ring of twisted gold. It was a thick, but rather plain circle, with no adornments or engravings. "It looks like a wedding ring."

"I guess it does." Her eyes narrowed in intent focus. "The queen isn't married, though, and there's been no announcement of a betrothal. What does she want with a wedding ring?"

The captain's head hunched down for a closer look. "Maybe it belonged to her parents?"

"She banished her mother, and murdered her father. I doubt she would be sentimental over some token of their union." Her hands wrapped around the edge of the table as she leaned down and forward. Together, they studied the pouch's contents in silence.

"Please, Captain." she whispered after long moments. "Don't give me to her. I'll leave your ship. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again."

"You'll do no such thing." Hook dropped the ring and stood, maneuvering around the table to stand before her. Emma straightened to her full height, taking her hat nervously into her hands. Her gaze flickered over him from beneath her dark lashes. _"You_ are not going _anywhere._ You set a single foot on land in this port, there's a great risk that the guards will recognize you and snatch you up. You will stay aboard this ship if I have to lock you in the brig."

"So that's it, then?" Her sight traveled away from him and down to the floor between them. "I'm to be your prisoner until you can claim the bounty on my head."

"No, love." He sighed, placing his forefinger under her chin to turn her face up to his again. "Once we've finished conducting our business here, we'll sail south, beyond the realm of the Evil Queen. You'll be safer there."

Her smile creased dimples into her cheeks as gratitude crept across her features. Before he knew it, his thumb softly stroked over one of them. He was caught by surprise when she surged up onto her toes and kissed him, but he recovered quickly. He returned the gesture roughly, nipping at her lower lip after his tongue found hers. Her taste was rich and sweet on his lips, like a luxurious vintage of wine. His hand slid from her jaw into her mop of hair behind her head, and he gripped her locks between his fingers. His other arm snaked around her waist to pull her closer, tighter to him. Emma moaned softly into his mouth, one of her hands tangling in the hair on the center of his chest. Slowly, he turned them, and began to back her toward his bunk.

Three sharp knocks sounded down from the hatch as someone kicked a boot heel on the upper deck. Hook heard himself growl at the unwelcome distraction as his lips parted from Emma's. Still, he did not release his hold of her. "What is it?" He shouted toward the ceiling.

"Sorry, Cap." Smee's voice drifted down through the wooden planks. "It's just – should we make for the dock? I don't want to rush you, but–"

Hook let out a groan. Though he was loath to leave his quarters at right this instant, he did have business to attend to. The sooner he had offloaded and sold the wares he had stolen from the _Blushing Maiden_ , the sooner Emma would be out of danger. "I'll be there in a moment, Smee." He licked his lips hungrily as he returned his attention to Emma, not letting go of her quite yet. "Best keep up your disguise with the rest of the crew, for now at least. Less trouble that way."

"Do you think they–?"

"Pirates, love." He reminded her. "Best not chance it. And one more thing – no more secrets from your captain."

"Yes, sir." She responded obediently.

He kissed her quickly one more time before heading up the ladder.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I am ecstatic with the response I've been getting! Thank you all so much, everyone who keeps reading and giving feedback! As promised, this chapter is much longer to make up for the brevity of the last one.**

 **I'm trying to make sure that I get at least one chapter posted every 24 hours. I may not be able to keep that up over the next few days, however, as my daughter is currently sick.**

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Emma sat on her bunk with the door closed, fighting the urge to bang her head repeatedly against the wall. She should not have kissed the captain. This was a dangerous game she was playing with a dangerous man, but she hadn't been able to help herself. She had just been so grateful that he had offered his assistance rather than turning her in.

He had stood so close, smelling of salt and gunpowder, rum and _musk_. His hand had cradled her face so gently, but he had kissed her hard, the coarse bristles of his beard scraping into the skin around her lips. She could still feel him – still taste him – on her mouth. She felt her chest flush beneath the buttons of her shirt.

When he'd gone above, she'd fled to her tiny cabin, afraid to let anyone see her flustered. She knew her lips and cheeks were reddened, and her breath came only in sharp pants. She threw her hat down on the mattress beside her. She would have to remain below, hidden from curious eyes for as long as the ship stayed tied to the dock. She had changed her appearance, yes, but she still wouldn't risk being witnessed by anyone who had seen the posters. She'd completed her chores up above, anyway. No one was likely to need her until the galley began to prepare the evening meal.

Until then, her mind was free to repeatedly replay the exchange she'd just had with the captain. Why did the queen want her so badly? She could guess that the servants of the crown had figured out that she was the culprit when she'd disappeared. Hopefully Robin had not tried to cover her tracks. She didn't want him or his son to get caught in the crossfire. She would never forgive herself if either of them had to suffer the consequences of her mistake, though it was an easy one to have made. The captain had agreed that the purse was small – too small for the price on her head.

 _The captain._

He lit such a fire in her belly. She'd been with men before, but none of them were able to turn her inside out with a single caress the way the captain did. Her life was in his hands now, and the thought made her quiver. Her fate was at the mercy of a merciless man. She had seen his blood lust when they had taken the _Blushing Maiden_. He was a man she would want fighting on her side. She couldn't afford to lose his protection. She was flirting with flames. It was frightening, but enticing at the same time.

She remembered how warm his skin had felt beneath her palm and she shuddered.

* * *

No one ever came to call her into the galley to help cook as usual. Her small chambers boasted no porthole, so she was unable to see the position of the sun from where she stayed tucked away. Once she realized that too much time had probably passed, she hesitantly got to her feet and exited the room. She saw no one as she made her way to the ship's kitchen, which was unusual. Crewman were typically scrambling over one another in the narrow passages below deck.

When she reached the galley, she was confused. It was empty as well. There was no bustle of preparation for the evening meal. There was no heat or steam from recent cooking, either. She hadn't missed it. Instead, there was a single tray arranged with bread and cheese, along with dried, smoked meat. It was the tray she used to carry supper to the captain's quarters. She was unsure why no one had informed her it was ready for him, but she dutifully wrapped her hands around its handles and brought it out the door.

The captain was not in his chambers. Emma set the tray down on his table. Against her better judgment, she climbed the ladder and out the hatch onto the deck. Though she didn't encounter anyone, she knew that the crew would never completely desert the ship and leave it unguarded. Someone still had to be around.

Finally, she found him standing on the bowsprit, his hand holding loosely to the rigging, and the wind ruffling through his dark hair. She came to a halt, standing quietly while he gazed off toward the horizon. There was a peace on his face that she would not have expected from him.

He did not turn to look at her, but he was aware of her presence. "You know the stars can take you anywhere if you know how to read them."

"Captain?" She asked once her breath had returned.

"We're alone, Emma." He told her. "I want you to call me Killian."

"Killian?" She drew as close as she dared, not trusting her balance up where he stood.

He seemed to notice her apprehension and approached her, jumping down to the deck before her. "Killian Jones, my lady." He bowed deeply, his hand swinging out to the side.

Emma blushed at the title. She was far from a highborn lady. "I don't understand. I thought your name was-?"

"Hook is just a moniker, love." He resumed his full height. "Simply something to inspire fear." He raised his hook in front of his face, turning it this way and that, as though he were examining it. "I find it apt. What do you think?"

At that, she smiled. "It seems to do the trick. So, you're really Captain Jones?"

His expression darkened as his hook returned to his side. "No. That honor went to my brother Liam back when we were both navy men."

"I didn't know that–"

"Few do." He stared off again, past the end of the stone jetty toward the open ocean.

She wasn't sure why he was telling her all of this. Was it possible that there was another side to the fearsome pirate? She decided to try exploring further. "What happened to him?"

The lines of his face creased into a menacing frown, and Emma was glad that the look was not directed at her. She would have been cowering. "He died."

"I-I'm sorry to hear that." She stammered. "Were you close?"

"Aye," he whispered, more to the night than to her.

When at length he didn't continue, she decided to take the cautious course of action and change the subject. "I brought food to your quarters, Captain."

"Killian," he corrected. "Now, is that so? Perhaps we should eat." He gestured for her to follow him aft and down. He took her hand as she reached to bottom rung of the ladder, and she stepped toward his chest.

Idly fidgeting with the collar of his coat, she got around to asking the question she had been wondering. "Where is the rest of the crew?"

His brows climbed upward as he grinned. "I sent them all into town. Told them I'd have a pretty girl on board and we weren't to be disturbed." When she looked at him with astonishment, he laughed. "Come, sit with me," he invited. He kept her hand in his as he backed toward the table. She thought he was leading her toward the chair she usually sat in when he'd asked her to dine with him, but instead he seated himself and pulled her toward him. She lowered herself down onto his lap, and his hooked arm stretched around her waist. "You can get comfortable, love." He murmured. "It's only the two of us here."

Blushing, Emma tugged the hem of her shirt from her waistband and reached her arm up to the back of the bindings on her chest. It was an awkward position, and she struggled with the knot.

"Allow me," Killian offered, his hand untangling from hers. With his five dexterous fingers, he found the tie and loosened it easily. The linen strips fell down around her waist, and her breasts bounced free. Emma took a gasping breath, and Killian smiled wickedly. "Now, isn't that better?"

"Much," Emma exhaled, her eyes drifting shut. When they opened again, he was still looking at her with that devilish grin, his hand still on her back beneath her shirt. "Thank you," she breathed before she leaned down to kiss him.

His lips were soft, but his kiss was hard as he claimed her mouth with his. Her hands found their way to the underside of his jaw. His fingertips pressed firmly into her back as he urged her even closer to him. Her palms slid down his neck, under the collar of his coat, and pushed it off of his shoulders. Killian's left forearm moved down under her hips as he hoisted her up, carrying her toward his bunk.

"Emma, love," he muttered between kisses. "I have wanted you since I saw you that night in the tavern."

"Well, sailor," she panted as he placed her down on the mattress. "That makes two of us."

His mouth left a trail of kisses over her cheek and under her ear, down to her collarbone as he settled himself on top of her. "You avoided me all that night, if I remember correctly."

Emma couldn't help but laugh as her fingers clawed at the lacing of his vest. "I knew you were trouble the second you walked in that door."

Killian pulled her shirt off over her head, and she tugged both his vest and shirt free. He pressed her down onto the bed with another rough kiss. She moaned as his chest dragged against her sensitive nipples. She could feel the ridge of him bulging through his pants between her thighs, and she gasped his name.

"Emma," he groaned. "Emma, love."

She was aching for him. A hungry ember had flared to life low in her core, and she needed him to sate it. Desperately, she reached down to tear free the laces of his pants while he kicked his boots off. His hand cupped the underside of her breast, drawing the peak of her nipple into his mouth. He teased it with his tongue before nibbling it gently. His palm stroked down her side to her hip, his thumb dipping beneath the waistband of her breeches.

In another blink, they were both completely unclothed and breathless. She whined as he pulled away from her. He settled above her, leaning on his elbow, looking down into her eyes, his hand rested on her hipbone. "You want this?" He asked her earnestly, concern registering on his features.

"Yes," Emma gasped out. "I want this." She was so wet and ready that she felt a true throbbing in her center.

He took himself in hand and, ever so gradually, sheathed himself inside of her. Emma let out a soft little cry as he filled her completely, burying himself up to the very hilt. He let out the breath he had been holding. "Say my name, Emma." He demanded.

"Killian," she sighed. " _Killian_."

Slowly, he began to move within her with long and dirty strokes. Her nails raked into his sweating back as she moaned. Grunting, he bit down on her shoulder. "Is this what you wanted, love? Tell me what you need." He began to quicken his pace.

"Yes, Killian," Emma cried out. "I need _you_."

He hoisted her leg up around his waist, then snaked his arm beneath her hips, raising them to him. Another cry peeled from Emma's throat as white-hot pleasure coursed through her veins and exploded beneath her skin. With just a few more hard, quick thrusts, she felt Killian tense and then pulse inside her.

He collapsed onto her, his head tucked between her neck and shoulder, satisfied and at a loss for air, as was she. Emma found her hand wrapped in the hair at the nape of his neck as his hot breath whispered beneath the lobe her ear. Softening, Killian rolled off of her. With his thumb, he turned her chin toward him until their eyes met. For a moment, he examined her, saying nothing.

Then, he kissed her gently, languidly, his tongue rolling lazy circles around hers. When they broke apart, Emma lay her head down on the muscle of his chest, happily inhaling his scent. She had never drifted off to sleep so easily or so contentedly.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: I'm sorry this chapter took so long, guys. Thanks for sticking with me! Everything is settling down now in my world, so hopefully I can get back on schedule and get the story going as fast as I had been. As usual, I love your feedback, so keep it coming and thank you for reading!**

* * *

Killian was feeling remiss. He'd been in such a hurry to claim the woman who had been haunting his dreams, to feel himself inside her, that he hadn't taken the time to appreciate her the way he had wanted to. The moon still hung high above the horizon, its reflection fragmenting on the gentle waves in the harbor. They had half the night remaining to them. It wasn't enough.

He looked down at her form beside him, sleeping and unclothed. He watched the gentle rise and fall of the soft swell of her breasts as her breathing whispered across his throat. Her creamy skin bore no ink, he saw. Tattoos were lucky for sailors. Perhaps he should convince her to illustrate herself if she was going to stay aboard. Maybe he'd ask her to permanently etch on the mark he'd left on her shoulder. He smiled at the thought, bending his neck to kiss the spot.

She stirred against his chest. This woman who craved freedom as he did hadn't squirmed at the sight of his severed arm, nor flinched as he'd led her into battle. His kiss, on the other hand...

His hand stroked over her side, over her fading bruises. They looked so out of place on someone who seemed so invulnerable. He should take over her swordplay lessons, he thought. He could teach her how to dodge better than any man in the crew. He could do it without hurting her. Though he wouldn't be having her join him on any raiding sorties, it was vital that she learned how to defend herself, but he didn't want to see her ivory skin marred. Perhaps he should reconsider that tattoo.

He traced the tip of his nose up her neck until he could feel her pulse against his lips below her ear. "Emma, darling." He whispered. His fingers trailed over the sharp line of her hipbone. "Wake."

She hummed happily, but her eyes did not open.

He nipped at her earlobe. "Are you dreaming, love?"

At last, she revealed the green oases of her eyes. They were fogged with sleep and heavy-lidded."I think so," she murmured.

"Dreaming of me?" He crooned into her neck.

"You're here, aren't you?" The note in her voice was absolutely sinful, and he felt himself stiffen.

"Aye." He agreed gutturally. "That I am." His hand slipped down through the triangle of soft curls between her legs, and parted her lower lips, finding the bead at her center. He teased the bundle of nerves with his fingertip and she gasped. Already feeling her wetness, he groaned, hardening more. He began stroking between her folds as his thumb rolled over her nub.

In mere moments, she was arching on top of him, beautiful, ragged little breaths tearing from her lips. He rolled her onto the mattress, freeing his arm carefully, turning the point of his hook away from her lovely skin. He pressed himself down on her, feeling every curve of her slender body laid out beneath him. He let her feel his length against her most sensitive spot before one, then two fingers slipped into her opening. Starting at the base of her neck, he kissed at her bruises, laving his tongue over each of the marks and working his way down.

She released a keening moan as his fingers twisted and continued to piston inside of her. It was music to Killian's ears. The last bruise he found was on the top of her hip, and he gently raked his teeth over the healing discoloration. He placed one more kiss beneath her navel before he tasted her. She was sweet, and smoky, and intoxicating, like the darkest spiced rum. He groaned.

Her hands tangled in his hair at the back of his head, urging him on desperately. He relished the sounds she made as he sent her careening over the edge with both his mouth and his fingers. Her nails dug into his neck as her thighs shook at his ears. Killian chuckled as he eased her back down from her bliss.

Sitting up, she reached beneath his arms and pulled him up to her. His lips locked on hers as he lowered her back to the bed. Her legs wrapped around his thighs as her hips shifted up to meet his. Taking himself by the base, he lined himself up right at her opening and began to draw wicked little circles. She squirmed deliciously, trying to take him inside of her, but he held himself back. It was too good, watching her writhe in need of him.

"Please, Killian," she begged. " _Please._ "

"Please what?" He taunted. "What would you like me to do, Emma? Say the word."

"Fuck me, Killian. Just fuck me."

"As you wish," he whispered against her lips. He obliged suddenly and completely, filling her with one punishing thrust. She called out his name and he grinned fiercely as he took her hard and slow. His hand moved faster at her center, in a way that sent her quickly over the edge. He felt her inner walls shudder and squeeze around his cock, and he almost lost it right then, but he was determined to make her fall apart for him just one more time.

Quickening his pace, he pushed her knees open and up, groaning as the new position of her hips allowed him even deeper within her. Her hands grabbed at his arse, guiding him as she jerked up to meet his every motion. "Come for me, Emma." He demanded as his thumb found her bead again. "Let me hear you say my name."

Her jaw clenched down, resisting the temptation to obey, and the flames inside him surged. His hips pounded harder into hers, the ministrations of his fingers growing rougher. He heard her whimper softly before she finally gave in, calling his name out into the night at the very top of her lungs. He was sure the sound crept aboard every vessel in the harbor, waking every sleeper. He didn't care. She was his.

This time, he came with her, his whole body tensing before he went slack.

* * *

He roused her once more before the sun breached the skies. He claimed her again, gently and lazily, before warning her that the crew would likely be returning soon. He watched the process of her dressing from the comfort of his bed, admiring the hardy way she bore the obvious discomfort of her bindings. Reluctantly, he clothed himself as well.

Together, he and Emma broke their fast at his table, feasting on the food that had been meant for the night before. Part of him was tempted to dismiss his entire crew and stay hidden below deck with Emma for as long as he could, but it wasn't safe for her here. They had to sail south, out of Queen Regina's kingdom, and the _Jolly Roger_ needed more hands than theirs to operate her lines.

When they heard footsteps above them, she scurried out of his cabin, blushing after one final kiss. A heel banged on the hatch, followed by Connors' voice. "Permission to enter, Captain?" Ever the dutiful first mate, he'd been the first one to return.

"Granted," Hook called up to him as he lowered himself into his chair.

Connors' eyes drifted over the scene once he'd reached the bottom of the ladder. The captain couldn't help but wear a cocky smirk as Connors reacted to the half-eaten tray of food, the rustled sheets, and the captain's easy posture. "You enjoy your night off, sir?"

"Thoroughly. What can I do for you, Mr. Connors?" His tone made it clear that he would not be answering any more questions about the prior evening's activities, and Connors snapped to attention.

"Just wondering what your orders were, Captain."

"We're to set sail this morning. We head south."

Connors nodded dutifully, though there was askance in his eyes. The _Jolly Roger_ did not often sail in southern waters, but the first mate knew better than to question his command. His gaze dropped to the table, perhaps in search of a map that may have been left out to indicate their heading. What he saw instead was Emma's wanted poster. Too late, Killian grabbed for it and rolled it up.

"Who is that?" Connors asked, unable to restrain himself.

Hook scowled. "Just a pretty face." He lied.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: I am now working on two multi-chapter stories. In addition to this one, I posted the first chapter of a _Doctor Who/OUAT_ crossover last night. Therefore, updates are going to take a little bit more time, but hopefully not too much. I promise this story is not going on the back burner just because I started something new. As always, thank you to everyone who keeps reading and giving me feedback!**

* * *

Emma couldn't look at the captain without blushing. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel the scratching of his beard against the delicate skin on her thighs. As much as possible, she avoided him in the sight of the crew. It wasn't easy aboard the ship, where everyone was always stepping on top of one another, but she did her best. She couldn't hide out in her cabin, either. Her hands were needed on deck as they prepared to cast off.

 _Her hands._ They were beginning to roughen. Now they were starting to look like a boy's – like a sailor's. They moved deftly now as she tied this line and loosened that one. She was learning the workings of the ship at a swift pace. She focused on her work instead of the captain as he passed behind her, barking out orders.

The crew scrambled to complete his instructions as quickly and expertly as they could. These dangerous and unruly men operated in fear of him, and the thought made Emma smirk to herself. Last night, she'd seen a tender and gentle side of the captain. She'd seen him kill, but could no longer imagine him ever bringing harm to her.

"Swan," he snapped. "Get that knot tighter before I'll have you whipped."

She spun, her jaw open in astonishment. He winked at her. Glancing around to make sure that no one else had seen the gesture, Emma smiled and returned to her work.

* * *

That evening, she had barely gotten the door closed and the tray set down on his table before he had her in his arms. Her hat tumbled to the floor as his hand laced into her hair. He claimed her mouth with his as he backed her up against the wall, pinning her in place. She could feel the heat rising off his chest.

"They'll hear us." She gasped the words out in spite of herself.

Killian stopped, then nodded, pressing his forehead to hers. The tips of their noses brushed together. "I've been wanting to kiss you all day, Emma."

"That's not what I heard," she teased, wrapping the hair at his nape around her finger. "I heard you wanted to have me whipped."

"All for show, love." He promised. "Can't have anyone thinking I might have gone soft, especially not over some cabin boy."

"Little do they know." She cocked an eyebrow at him and watched his face split into a devilish grin.

* * *

Once the shore had vanished over the horizon, the wind failed. Days passed with nary a gust, and the _Jolly Roger_ sat idle. Emma and Killian stole moments when they could, but more often than not, they were Emerson and Captain Hook. With so little work to be done while the ship wasn't moving, the captain had started teaching her some of his own swordsmanship skills.

He was much faster than the other men she had sparred with. The way his feet moved across the deck made the fight look like a dance. Emma tried to keep up, but no matter how she lunged, it seemed that the point of his practice sword always ended up beneath her throat.

"Focus on your feet," he told her, tapping her ankle with the fake blade.

"How am I supposed to do that when I'm worrying about getting stabbed?" She kept her voice low, not wanting anyone to overhear her backtalk.

"I'm not going to stab you with a wooden sword, Swan." His eyebrows raised. "Learn the footwork now, and it will be instinct by the time you're fighting with actual metal."

"When will that be?" She asked anxiously.

"When you're ready, and not a moment before." He lowered the sword to his side. "Watch." He walked through the paces again, slower this time. Emma tried to mimic what he had done, but stumbled. Once more, he showed her. This time she moved along with him, mirroring his motions. He swung his sword down on her without warning, but she sidestepped, still repeating the steps. He thrust, and she dodged again. It was obvious that he was holding back, but Emma didn't care. She was learning. She was improving.

The clack of wood on wood sounded out once, twice, then three times as she parried his slowed strikes. "Keep your feet moving," he reminded her. She missed a step and the flat of his sword tapped her arm, but then she found the rhythm. Step. Parry. Step, step, block. She jabbed quickly, and caught him in the side. The look he gave her in return was playfully menacing, and he settled into his stance, ready to strike again.

His attacks came faster, but he kept to their dance. She knew that at any moment he could surprise her, outpace her, or overcome her with strength, but he didn't. Every time she thought she could no longer keep up, his next blow would come just a half a beat slower. She tried to swipe at him, but his sword caught hers and forced its tip down to the deck, their hilts knocking together. She could feel his breath on her face as their eyes met, before the wind ruffled through the tips of her hair at her neck.

 _The wind!_

"Captain, Captain!" Shouts sounded out from all over the ship. "The wind is up!"

Killian's eyes flickered over Emma's face briefly before the captain stepped back, handing her his fake sword's hilt. "Aye, men." He roared. "Let's get those sails at the ready!"

* * *

It was another two days before they came across one of King George's ships. They still had not passed the boundaries of Regina's kingdom, so Emma might have tried to convince the captain that this one ship wasn't worth taking, but she never got the chance. Hook put the _Jolly Roger_ in pursuit the second he laid eyes on the other vessel.

Emma was sent down to the gun deck again at the captain's insistence. She wasn't good enough with a sword yet, but she had done well with the cannons last time they'd gone to battle. It was true. Everything had operated like a well-oiled machine. She worked aside Murray again. She would be the one to swab the barrel, pack it with powder and shot, then Murray would run it out and fire. Last time, she'd been swept up in the excitement and intensity of the moment. This time, she tasted the tang of fear in the back of her throat.

She had seen Killian jump aboard the _Blushing Maiden_ with a complete disregard for his own safety. His aptitude with a blade had earned him the right to his confidence, but anything could happen. She knew she could only voice such concern for him in private. Captain Hook needed to be infallible in the eyes of his men. He couldn't have a lowly cabin boy showing such worried affection for him.

Telling herself he would have a better chance at surviving if she did her job right, Emma got to work. She almost mixed up the powder and the shot the first time she loaded up, but she caught herself. They were ready in time for the captain's furious command. The cannon thundered and slammed backward.

It hadn't finished moving when she began to ram the wet swab into it again, extinguishing any remaining embers that would set the next round off prematurely. She was ahead of the order when Murray yelled for powder, then again with the shot. Again, the captain hollered the signal from above.

Murray fired, and when the sounds of the explosion faded, Emma heard his screams. The cannon had rolled over his foot, crushing it into a pulp. Once he was freed, Emma carried him away from the guns' paths. She considered trying to work the gun by herself, but knew she could neither roll nor aim it. She had gotten stronger, but not that strong.

She crawled back to the opening at the end of the barrel and looked out.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Thank you everyone who keeps reading and giving me their feedback! The more I hear from you guys, the more motivated I am to continue this story. There's still quite a bit more that I have in store, and I absolutely love hearing what you think about it.**

Hook's cutlass cleaved into the man's shoulder, and the gasping body fell to the side. He slashed the next man across the ribs. It seemed that every time he cut one man down, two more took his place. Droplets of blood flew from his blade as it curved through the air, and splattered down when another sword managed to block his own.

As he slid a man's stomach off of his blade to use it on the next man, he heard the sharp clang of metal behind his head. He turned his chin to see two crossed swords hardly a hand's breadth away from his face, one blocking a blow aimed at him. It would have taken his ear off, or worse. He dealt with the sailor at his front before he spun to see who had saved him. He would be sure to reward the man.

It turned out to be no man, but Emma. She'd stolen a sword from one of the corpses that lay at his feet and she was adding to the pile, defending his back. Something flashed inside of him, other than the usual heat of rage he felt during battle. He briefly appreciated the image she cast, blood-splashed, blade in hand.

"Killian, behind you!"

He pivoted just in time to catch the blow with his hook, twisting it to disarm the man quickly before stabbing him. The sailor choked on a breath that wouldn't come, and the captain threw him to the floor. He gave Emma a grateful nod and returned to the task at hand.

* * *

Clark took care of the rest of the naval men while Captain Hook spun on Emma. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Swan?"

"W-what?" She sputtered. "Captain I–"

"You what?" He demanded, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline. "I ordered you down to the gun deck, did I not?" He exhaled heavily, running his blood-smeared hand over his face. "Nevertheless, you may have saved my life. We will speak in my cabin to determine your punishment."

For a moment, she only gaped at him, her jaw moving up and down as though she were trying to form words. The expression he cast upon her was not one to be argued with, however. Still, if anyone would protest his command, it would of course be Emma. He couldn't be soft on her in front of his men. Silently, he hoped she would understand that. At last, she nodded and returned to the _Jolly Roger,_ her form disappearing down the hatch.

After the enemy ship had been looted, and her treasure safely stowed aboard the _Jolly_ , he and his men set the fire. They fled back to their own ship and adjusted the sails with haste. He instructed Connors to resume their course south before he followed Emma into his quarters.

At first, he said nothing. He spared her only a glance as he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it onto his chair. He crossed to his cabinet and retrieved a bottle of rum along with two tumblers, the same ones they'd used the first night they had dined together. He poured, and downed his own drink immediately. She held hers nervously.

"You could have died, Emma." He told her softly.

She put the glass to her lips and drank it all in a single smooth motion. He watched her throat work as she swallowed. " _You_ could have died." She retorted. "We didn't."

He placed his tumbler down on the table and his lips were on hers. Whatever could have happened, it didn't. She was here. She was safe, she was alive and unhurt. She was fierce, and she had saved his life. She was his. He needed to feel her, all of her, to take everything he could have of her, everything she would give him. The thoughts swam through his head, making him dizzy. There was a fire burning in his belly. Or was that the adrenaline mixing with rum?

He caught his hand as it was pulling at the laces of her breeches. She didn't stop him. Rather, her hips leaned into his, and one of her feet wrapped behind his ankle. "Can you keep quiet, Emma?" He whispered against her lips.

She nodded cautiously. "I think so."

He created a ring of kisses encircling her neck as he turned her around, then released the laces on his own pants. He slid her waistband down over the lovely curve of her arse, and bent her gently forward over the table. His hand glided eagerly to her center, rubbing and stroking her small bundle of nerves until she was fully ready for him.

Killian entered her agonizingly slowly, and watched her hands grip the sides of the table, her knuckles going white with the exertion. His thrusts were firm, but tender. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning her name. His hand slipped over her hip as he pulled her back toward him, leaving a streak of blood on her cream-like skin.

She was here, she was safe, she was _his._

The thought was enough to make him want to spill over instantly. He clenched his jaw, knowing he would not forgive himself if he did not bring her to pleasure first. Thankfully, it did not take long before he felt her body seize up around him, her inner walls pulsing around his cock. With just a few more quick strokes, he tumbled over the edge after her. Though he tried to hold back the sound, he grunted quietly.

Emma's legs shook as he removed himself. She collapsed the rest of the way onto the table and Killian smirked, admiring his handiwork. He helped her straighten back up before refilling their tumblers, watching her in silence as she tugged her breeches back into place and laced them up. He inhaled the familiar scent of the rum as he stared at her over the rim of the glass.

"You disobeyed me, Emma." He enunciated finally.

"And I saved your ass in the process." She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"What were you even doing there?" He set his glass down again to tie the laces on his pants. "Why weren't you down below deck?"

"Murray was injured by the cannon," she explained. "There was nothing more I could do down there, and it looked like you could use more swords. I figured – well, I've been training a lot, and you said yourself that I was getting better."

"That doesn't mean you're ready to face an opponent who is actively trying to kill you."

"Are you really going to tell me that you're mad? I think I did a good job, and I stand by my decision." Her cheeks flushed in frustration. Gods, this woman was stubborn. "If I hadn't been there, who knows what would have happened to you?"

He shook his head. "I'm not angry. I was concerned for your safety. But Emma, you went against my orders in front of my crew. I can't let them see you go unpunished. They think you're just the cabin boy. I can't be seen giving you special treatment."

She flinched at that. "Killian, please."

"Any man did what you did while under my command, I'd tie him to the mast and whip him, but I can't do that to you." The thought of her skin splitting open under the crack of the whip made him wince. Nevermind the fact that she would be exposed for the woman she was. "I'm sorry. I hate to do this, Emma, but I'll have to escort you to the brig."


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: I continue to be overwhelmed by the number of people who have read this story and who keep reading! Please keep following along and leaving me feedback – it's you guys and your responses who make doing this so gratifying.**

 **If you like the way that I write Killian, and you share my love of obscure _Doctor Who_ characters, do check out my other fic _Lords of Time and Sea_.**

* * *

The cell was dark, and held a stagnant, permeating dampness. There were no windows. It smelled of rot and mildew. The brig was located on the lowest level of the ship, down in the bilges where water had seeped in and left slippery algae to coat the floors. Even the air in here was moist, and it felt thick in her lungs. When she leaned against the walls, she felt barnacles scraping into her skin. Her feet were shackled.

She had told the captain she would be fine down here, but she was starting to have her doubts. The chill was creeping into her bones. When she could no longer estimate how long she had been locked in there, she thought she might go mad. It could have been hours or days, maybe weeks. Time no longer had meaning. All that was left was darkness and discomfort.

Occasionally she slept, or at least she thought she did, but she couldn't be sure. Dreams never came, and the cold, wet aches never left her. All she knew was that if she reclined against the wall and closed her eyes, it might bring her closer to seeing the sun again. She was overjoyed when she finally saw the glow of a lantern.

Its light flooded the chambers, and Emma instantly felt some of the gloom dissipate. She was eager to see Killian's face again. Although he had been the one to put her here, she knew he wasn't enjoying this any more than she was. He had only done it to protect his reputation with his crew. But it wasn't his visage that swam into view above the lantern. It was Clark's. Emma stared at him questioningly as he came close and leaned against the bars of her cell.

"I have to amputate Murray's foot." He said casually, packing his wooden pipe. "You're going to hear some screams."

Emma swallowed. "Oh," was all she could think to respond. Her voice was hoarse from disuse. There was no point in asking whether Murray would be okay.

"Seems strange." Clark picked at the dirt beneath his fingernails with his thumb before lighting his tobacco. "Man's been a gunner nigh on fifteen years. Never had an accident like that before. Been a lot o' accidents since you came on board, boy."

"And you think I have something to do with it?" She croaked out.

"I'm just saying it's suspicious is all. And yet the captain has taken quite a shine to you. You've eaten at his table more 'n I have. I reckon more than his first mate has." He puffed away, expressionless.

"The captain was the one who threw me down here." She reminded him, wrinkling her nose as tendrils of smoke teased at her nostrils. "I hardly think he does that with people he's partial to."

"Aye, for a crime that would get most men a few lashings and be done with it. I wonder, is he punishing you because you used his first name?" He flashed her a smile that looked to be more of a grimace, possibly because of the odd lighting, but Emma felt something sinister in his words. "Now, tell me. Why is a cabin boy calling his captain by his given name?"

"I – I didn't." She tried to protest.

"I ain't stupid, boy. I heard you. You don't have to tell me nothin', but I know what I heard."

Just like that, Clark and the light were gone, and Emma was alone in the dark once again. She crouched down, wrapping her arms around her knees. She could feel water swishing around her heels. The stench of tobacco lingered, churning with the scent of her chamberpot to create a nauseating concoction. Emma took shallow breaths, trying hard not to retch.

She couldn't imagine that Murray's screams would be worse than when the bones in his foot had been shattered, but the sounds that drifted down from the ceiling were blood-curdling. Emma rocked back and forth, trying to smother the noise in her ears with her hands, but she could still hear it. Shouts of "hold him down, hold him down" filtered through the boards, and the screaming only intensified.

It felt like eons had passed by the time the shrieking faded to whimpers and sobs. Emma realized then that her face was hot, and she was crying too. She tried to wipe the tears from her face, but her wrinkled and waterlogged fingers only served to smear the wetness over her cheeks. Barnacles dug into the skin of her shoulders as she leaned back and closed her eyes.

* * *

"Emma? Emma?"

She felt the lantern warming her face before the hand gently shaking her arm. She smiled before she even opened her eyes, already feeling more comfortable than she had in far too long. In the soft light of the flame, Killian's face came into focus through her sleep-blurred vision.

"Emma. Wake, love." His thumb stroked over her jaw and her smile spread.

"Captain," she hummed.

"It's just the two of us here. You can use my name." A soft expression spread over his features, and he bent down to kiss her gently.

She frowned when they broke apart. "Clark heard me. When we were on the other ship, he heard me call you 'Killian.' He came down here to ask me why."

"Did he, now?" Killian's brow furrowed. His hand touched to the back of her neck, and when he drew away, she saw blood on his fingers. She hadn't even realized she was bleeding. "I'm so sorry, Emma." He whispered, pain in his eyes. "I should never have shut you down here."

"It's okay, Killian. I know you didn't have a choice. The crew-"

"Fuck the crew." He interrupted angrily. "I could replace the whole lot of them. You are more important. I should not have brought you here. Come on."

Emma stretched out her ankles and found that they were no longer bound. She took his hand and he helped her onto her feet. His hook looped through the handle of the lantern as he led her out of the cell. Out of instinct, she tried to drop his hand as they reached the door, not wanting anyone to see the simple but intimate gesture.

His fingers squeezed tight around hers. "No one else is aboard, Emma. You can hold my hand."

He walked slowly, lending her support as she stumbled on weak legs. "Where is everyone? How long was I down there?" She had to ask.

"They're on land. We reached port about an hour ago." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You've been in the brig for two days. I'm sorry, love." He opened the door to his cabin and ushered her inside, closing the door behind him and seating her down on the bunk.

Crossing to the cabinet, he poured each of them a drink. Emma swallowed hers easily, and he smirked, but his eyes were still full of concern. "Now, let's get you out of those dirty clothes," he suggested. He reached into his closet and pulled out one of his own shirts, throwing it down onto the table. A leather pair of pants followed. "Do you still have that ointment in your cabin, love?"

When she nodded, he ducked out of the room.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: First off, I want to apologize for letting this story sit idly on the back burner for so long. I was working on finishing up an original novel that I'm hoping to get published. The second draft is now complete and I'm waiting on another round of edits before I polish it off once more and then call it ready to go to an agent.**

 **As ever, I am so thrilled to see how many people continue to read and favorite this story, even as it's been lacking updates. I really appreciate all the feedback you guys give, and it really keeps me going – both on my fanfiction and my original fiction.**

* * *

It wasn't until he stood inside the room that Killian realized how small it truly was. He winced, knowing Emma would never complain, but he was sure she would be more comfortable in larger quarters. She deserved a palace. If he was a king in his own right, his mistress should be living in splendor, not this tiny litlle nook in the wall.

Nevertheless, the diminutive size made the space easier to search. There was only one cubby, and he found the salve tucked in the back. It was clear she had needed to use it a few more times after those first few injuries Quinn's training had left her with. He recalled fondly ( _was it only a few weeks ago now?_ ) that first time she had melted into his touch, when that forged-metal woman had softened first, as she had done again and again since.

But now his pride had damaged her. She may have insisted that she understood, but he would not forgive himself for causing her such discomfort and for so long. He would do everything he could to remedy the situation. Tonight, that would mean pampering her as best he could while tending to her wounds. He was no medicine man, but it would not do to have Clark examine her. He was already suspicious of her femininity, and Hook did not want to give him the chance to confirm those vague notions.

Clark had been a pirate all his life – his father had handed down his own profession. There were few, if any rules imposed upon the man's conduct, and he had no moral compass of his own. He was a vicious fighter and handy in any battle. He was even more useful in the aftermath, with the ability to saw apart or stitch together human bodies as was necessary, using the same tools on flesh as he did on the wooden body of the ship.

He knew better than to steal from his captain or any outranking member of the crew. He knew how to follow rules, even if he begrudged a few of them, but he preferred to be a man of his own right and live by his own code when given half a chance. What's worse is that he believed all the old superstitions, and would spit bile to know the captain had broken that unwritten rule without the slightest regard.

After all, rules were for lesser men, not for the most feared pirate captain who sailed in these waters. Still, Hook knew what was bad form, and he tried to live his life by his own set of morals, dubious though some may be. Those dusty old superstitions and legends were just a set of guidelines, anyway. This was his ship and he could do what he wanted with it.

 _He could do what he wanted_. _Whatever he wanted._

He paused, jar in his elbow and hand reaching for the door. Maybe he would. Perhaps he would claim Emma as his mistress before the crew, revealing her to be her true self. If they knew that she was his and his alone, then he was sure that no one would touch her. No one would dare to try and claim the Captain's prize. Even for the hefty reward on her head, they would stay away.

Killian brightened, an extra swagger drifting into his step, but he paused yet again. If she was claimed as his one and only mistress, he would have no other women. Before, that thought would have repelled him, but for Emma... Emma was different. He felt as though he needed no others. He glanced down at his arm, still extended before him. There, on the inside of his forearm was the etched reminder of the last time he had given his heart to a woman. He had never intended to again. There was her name, inked into a heart with an undulating dagger pierced through it. Milah. His one true love. Or was she?

Certainly, his feelings for Emma were strong, but had he really been able to fall in love again? He hadn't thought himself capable of such a feat. He'd spent so many years now, finding comfort in every port he landed at, but never letting any of them into his cold and darkened heart.

Perhaps it was true, but he couldn't bring himself to believe it just yet. All he knew was that he wanted Emma, wanted to protect her, and revealing and claiming her was the best way he could do that right now. She would be his prize, and he would be able keep her by his side at all times, to kiss her at will without eliciting any awkward scenarios with his crew. They would be partners in all their crimes.

Decision made, he unlatched the door at last, his heavy boots stomping back toward his own quarters, where Emma would be lying in wait for him, just where he had left her. He hoped she would go along with his plan. Killian was sure it was for the best, and he wanted her to agree. He was sure she would see the logic in it, maybe she would even be pleased by the offer.

Swinging the door open with a smile, he called out to her. "Emma?"

No response. He didn't see her. Killian stepped further into the room, to check if she were hidden by some corner. He placed the jar down as he peered behind the table. Perhaps she was hiding as some sort of game? No, the room was empty; Emma was gone.

"Swan!" He called out louder. He needed to find her, and the urgency of doing so only increased when he saw the clothes he'd pulled out for her still lying neatly on the bed, though one of his sheets was gone. Her bilge-soaked outfit was still in the room as well. Wherever she was, she was naked, possibly wrapped in a blanket. He was sure they were alone, but he couldn't overlook the risk they were taking, playing house like this.

Never in his life had he done a full inspection of his ship so quickly. He knew every nook and cranny of his vessel. _She_ was his first and longest love, and he knew every inch of her. Emma was nowhere to be found. That's when pangs of panic began to stab at his throat. He ran back to the hatch and stuck his head above the deck.

"Swan!" He shouted again, not caring who might hear him. The shared name on the "wanted" poster never even crossed his mind. "Where the fuck _are_ you?"

He glanced out toward the sea, then hesitantly turned his gaze back toward land. No, he didn't want to think that was a possibility, but no other obvious solution presented itself. Someone had sneaked onto his ship and taken her from him. There was nowhere else she could be.

Ire and fear put a strange mixture of flame and ice his blood. He immediately made his way toward the shores, in search of his treasure.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: For all the momentum I built up at the beginning of this story, life has certainly done a good job of turning that on its head over the past year! Fortunately, the majority of the chaos seems to have subsided for now, so hopefully I'll be able to get back into the swing of it as I'm sincerely hoping to. I am working on several writing projects for publication at the moment, so I won't be adding chapters daily like I used to, but it should be at least on a regular basis again.**

* * *

Consciousness began to creep in at the edges. The first thing she became aware of was the disturbing sensations in her head, the pain intensifying as the dullness of her senses receded slowly. She squeezed her eyes tighter shut. It was as though her skull had been stuffed with cotton until it had started to swell. With every throb of her pulse, she became more worried that a blood vessel deep in her brain was going to burst.

Groaning softly, she dipped her head down. Her clammy forehead touched her bare knees. Where was this pain coming from? Had she and Killian overindulged in the rum again? She was pretty sure she was naked, and the fabric wrapped around her felt familiar. It definitely wasn't his bunk pressing into her side, though. The solid surface beneath her did not warmly cradle the curves of her body as Killian's mattress did. Her brows furrowed. The tempest in her head still denying her the ability to open her eyes, she started to lift her hand in an attempt to probe her surroundings.

Her hands wouldn't separate.

As she slowly rubbed her wrists together, she felt the well-known scratch of the rigging lines on the skin there. An experimental shift of her feet proved that her ankles were bound as well. She forced her breathing to remain deep and even, as though she were still sleeping. Her heart rate was beyond her control and it raced ahead until she began to feel dizzy. Finally, she mustered the willpower to open her eyes – just the barest bit at first, in case anyone was watching – but she saw nothing. Even as she finished raising her lids the rest of the way, there was nothing but darkness. Through the fog in her head, she gathered what wits she could find.

Patiently, she took her time making mindful motions imitating those she might make in her slumber. In addition to the ropes around her, the fabric around her kept her contained in the fetal position. She fought to keep calm and think clearly, which became all the more difficult of a struggle when it dawned on her that the world beneath her did not roll and sway as the ship did on the water. What could she remember? Trying to think was like swimming through molasses.

Killian. She was back in his cabin. He'd taken her back from the brig. She'd been so tired and disoriented when he'd relieved her of that misery, and she'd known that both his motives and apologies had been genuine. She hadn't even teased him. As he'd ducked out of the chamber, she'd immediately begun the process of stripping down to her bare skin. Though her desires to shed the fabric were urgent, the aches that resonated through every muscle of her body slowed even her smallest movements. Gently and gradually, she peeled back the layers, damp with bilge water, stained with crusted blood. Most of it wasn't even hers, but some must have been. There were so few areas of her pale skin now unmarred by irritated scrapes, raw rope burns, or the multicolored bruises – forming the most hideous of rainbows in their various stages of healing. She added "throbbing blisters" to the list as she eased the first sock over her heel and took a sharp inhale.

All that was left to remove from her body was the binding on her chest. Getting her hands into position behind the knot was agonizingly slow. Finally, she pinched it between her fingers and began to coax the ends loose. It came undone all at once, falling to the floor around her feet, still holding a circular shape. She felt the air rush from her lungs as her breasts fell suddenly back into place, the tissue sore from being pushed out of place for so long. The smell of dead, peeling skin and old sweat assaulted her nostrils. Right now, rest was most essential, but she assured herself that once she had done that, the very next thing should would do would be to bathe.

Placing her palms on the edge of the bunk, she had hunched forward and breathed as deeply as she could, allowing her ribs to expand far more than they had been able to while the binding was still in place. She'd heard the latch of the door click softly back into place and remembered being surprised that she hadn't heard the thumping of Killian's boots on his way back into the room. At the time, she'd dismissed it, and she cursed herself now for doing so. The last thing she could recall was a cloth clamping over her face, clutched in a rough hand coming from behind her. She tried to scream, but the sound was too muffled to be of any use. Something smelled strange, she remembered thinking as the world had started to darken. A pair of hands caught her just before she'd hit the floor.

Lying still, Emma considered her next move. With enough effort and dexterity, she might be able to free herself, but had no way of knowing whether she was being watched. She couldn't hear much of anything. Every so often, she would hear a pop that could have been attributed to a nearby fire. Her heart at last began to slow as her thoughts accelerated. Each throb in her chest coming a bit later than the last one had. She felt her blood surging into her muscles, her body preparing for whatever may be expected of it at a moment's notice.

Her patience paid off in mere moments. Somewhere quite near her, she heard a match light. A voice muttered in agitation. "How much longer is this wench meant to sleep, then?"

"Well," a casually confident voice on her other side exaggerated a sigh, then dropped a conspiratorial note. "You followed my instructions?"

A faint and distant memory tugged at Emma's attention, but she brushed it off, needing to focus.

"Aye, your lordship. Just –"

"Don't." The interjection was a sharply authoritative order. "Don't call me that. My dad's the one with all the titles. Not me."

"I beg your pardon... sir?"

"Yeah, 'sir' is fine."

"I did just as you said, sir. Poured th' whole bottle on a rag an' covered her face 'til she went down."

Both speakers sounded vaguely familiar, but she could place neither. For some reason, the notes intoned by the man seemingly in charge made her stomach heavy with churning bile. She quieted her breathing even further, wanting no distractions for her ears.

"And aside from her constraints, she is _exactly_ as you found her?"

"Entirely unspoiled, sir. Though I can't say it weren't tempting, nude as I found her an' all. Pretty little thing she is, even with all them cuts an' bruises an' the like."

"So," The voice took on a matter-of-fact tone. "You're telling me that when I open this sack, I'm going to find Emma Swan, naked and covered in injuries."

A hesitant pause lasted only a heartbeat. "Aye, sir."

"And you say you have nothing to do with it." On its surface, the comment could be construed as offhanded. However, the accusation lay neatly within its folds. Emma couldn't help but smile slightly, despite her predicament. She actually found herself fondly recalling every little misstep that had marked her body in recent weeks. If her captor got blamed for it, maybe there was some sense of justice in the way the world worked.

A sputtering cough erupted. "I swear, sir! I didn't – I only touched her with the cloth, then caught her 'afore she fell. Sir. Bagged her up and made scarce. On me honor."

The footsteps that crossed the room were slow and deliberate as the one passing down commands approached his subordinate. She could almost hear knees knocking together. "Honor? The honor of a pirate who can't even stay loyal to his captain?"

So it was one of the crew. Emma had a sneaking suspicion of who it might be and took a deep inhale. Sure enough, the stinging scent of tobacco had begun to saturate the fabric she was held in.

Clark apparently mustered a small bit of pride. "Oi. I made a deal with your father, and I held up my end. I know I did. I read the terms careful enough."

"Oh, I doubt that."

 _Wait..._

 _Father? Deal?_

 _No... That couldn't be. He was dead._

That memory she'd hastily dismissed nagged her again. This time she took it into consideration, but continued to eavesdrop, waiting for more clues, positive that it couldn't be his voice she heard. Surely in a moment one of them would say something proving her suspicions wrong.

"Your dear ol' dad said if I brought you what you want, I get what I want. Signed a contract an' everything. Says he never breaks a deal."

"That's right. He doesn't."

"So where is it? 'Lifetime supply,' our deal said. I see none."

"Well, here's the thing." The inflection was frigid. In the brief beat of silence that followed the phrase, Emma felt the warmth drain from her skin and she suppressed a shiver. "There was one aspect of the deal that you neglected to discuss with my father before you signed."

"Well where is he then?" Clark clearly had not caught on yet. "Whatever that detail may be, we'll get it right sorted."

"See, my father, he was trying to decide what might constitute a 'lifetime supply.'" The footsteps began to tread calmly back and forth as the speaker drawled out a few items of a list. "There are a few factors involved in that calculation, you see. There's of course, the frequency of use, the amount used any given time, and of course, there's that pesky little question of the length of that life." The pacing ceased.

"Sir?" As perceptive as Clark had thought himself to be when he'd teased Emma in her cell, he certainly was proving to be quite thick in his current predicament.

Then, the unmistakable whisper a blade pulled from its sheath hit her ears, followed by wood clattering to the floor – no doubt a chair or stool where Clark had been seated. "Have no worries, Mr. Clark. The reward is yours."

Emma heard the blade plunge into flesh. Clark let out a weak yelp that petered out into a whimper that would have caused her to pity any other man. She tried to muster sympathy while her toes began to feel warm, slippery, and sticky. It didn't work.

The remaining man, who might have been – _No. It couldn't be him._ The man took several steps toward her, coming to a halt mere inches from her knees and she heard the floorboards shift under his feet as he crouched down beside her. Mentally, she took a quick scan of her body making sure there was nothing to betray her alertness. She found nothing, but the fabric around her began to shift anyway. He was untying her, she realized.

In a snap decision, she continued to feign sleep, not wanting him to know she'd heard any of the preceding conversation. The gentle heat of a crackling fireplace spread over her cheek, the scent of old dust and freshly smoked tobacco lingering in the air. Calloused fingers pressed errant strands of hair off of her brow.

"Emma?" He whispered, and it all came flooding back to her.

All the little moments of calm. Every eye of every storm as the wind settled, leaving just the two of them, making whatever they could of the brief heartbeats of shared peace before once again taking up arms or taking breathless flight. Collapsing in exhaustion each time a brief pocket of safety appeared, indulging in the comforts of each other on secluded moss beds deep in the woods, carnally celebrating beside whatever bounty they'd acquired. The curses and promises uttered for the two of them alone. Her heart squeezed tight, forcing every drop of blood from its chambers.

 _His lifeless body..._

"Come on, Emma, wake up."

She didn't want to. As soon as she opened her eyes, she knew the illusion would be shattered and he would still be dead. The tiny spark of belief that she had allowed to flicker into existence despite herself would be extinguished, and not only would her devastation from the loss become fresh and new again, but she would also have to face whatever was about to come next. Still, there was only so far she could press her luck with this farce, so she began to act out the gradual stirring of a gentle awakening.

Bracing herself for disappointment, she set her gaze on the face belonging to the hand that lay lightly on her temple. Even after steeling herself, the sight that met her knocked the wind from her. She tried to suck air back in, but she had forgotten how.

It was him. He was alive. An impish grin spread across his cheeks, creasing the outer corners of his eyes. "Hey there."

 _Baelfire._


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Hey, less than a week between chapters! That's in addition to a new chapter in Lords of Time and Sea as well as a bunch of progress on other writing projects of mine that can't yet be found online. Keep your fingers crossed that I can maintain plugging along at this pace, and that life is out of wrenches to throw into my gears for the time being.**

He kicked open the tavern's door, darkening the entrance. His vision skimmed over the rowdy patrons, lingering a bit longer on the tables packed with men from his own ship, flickering from face to face, questing for a certain set of features.

"Oi! Captain!" Clearly too inebriated to read his mood, one of the _Jolly Roger_ 's crew rose from the bench he occupied, ale sloshing in his tankard as he made an uncoordinated, sweeping gesture with his tankard. "Finished with your lass already and come to join us? We got others!"

A hearty cheer rose from the few whose senses were too dulled to notice the darkness he ushered in, while the majority lapsed into an uneasy silence. Hook ignored the man, pushing deeper into the dimly lit hall, toward the spot of red he'd spied at last at the far end of the bar. Smee launched himself onto his feet as the captain approached, nearly toppling his cup of ale.

"Sir?" The boatswain questioned dutifully.

"Gather the men back on the ship immediately. My prisoner is missing."

"Swan's gone?"

Hook's palm passed over his face in agitation. He had neither the time or the patience for an interrogation. "That is what I said, Mr. Smee."

"Could he have escaped on his own?"

"Mr. Smee, are you unfamiliar with the meaning held by the word 'immediately?'"

"Sorry, sir. I'll round them up."

"All of them. I don't care what you have to interrupt. Get every last man assembled quick as you can."

"Aye, aye, sir."

The hem of his tailcoat swung against his boots as he marched back down the docks, taking careful inventory of the ships dotting the harbor. In his head, he listed off the names of their captains and any motivations they may have had against him in retaliation for his previous slights. Or perhaps he didn't even factor into the equation. After all, any pirate could be expected to drool at the size of the purse offered in exchange for Emma. It was possible this was all the result of a single man's greed. Whatever the reasons, whoever was behind this would pay dearly. There was no question in his mind. Just how dearly would depend on Emma's condition when he found her.

A few at a time, the crew began to appear. They all looked askance at him as they boarded, but he saved his explanations until a larger mass had assembled. Smee was the last to return. As he clambered on board, the captain performed a quick and silent headcount.

Three men were missing.

"Mr. Smee, did I not make myself clear? You seem to be facing some difficulties with interpreting the English language this evening." Hook bellowed the chastisement across the ship, indifferent to the deepening scarlet of his boatswain's face.

"S-sorry sir. I couldn't find them. I looked, I swear! I didn't want to keep you waiting."

The captain's jaw clenched tight, and from the looks in the eyes of his men, he was sure he wore his most menacing scowl. His eyes skimming over the varied faces, he took stock of whose he didn't see. O'Sullivan – most likely drunk in an alley falling wistfully head-over-heels for a pretty young lad of his own persuasion. Clark – he had a habit of making for the woods, pipe and hatchet in hand, every time they made shore. Connors – _Connors_? Now, that man was never far from his potential duties. Ice splashed into Hook's belly as he remembered the first mate catching that glimpse of Emma's poster. Never would he have believed that Connors would be the one to betray him over a bounty without a word.

"Alright, lads," he barked out the commands even more sharply than during some of their recent battles. "Thanks to Mr. Smee's incompetence, our search party is now in pursuit of _four_ instead of _one_."

"Who we lookin' for, Cap?" One of the men slurred.

Hook couldn't help but roll his eyes. Half his men were already three sheets to the wind. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to scare enough sobriety into them for them to get the job done. "Swan. Connors. O'Sullivan. Clark. Bring them here. I will deal with each of them accordingly."

"I thought Swan was in the brig? He's not there now? Where would he go?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling his short nails dig into the skin at the corners of his closed eyes. "Yes, that would seem to be the question, wouldn't it?" Sucking air into his lungs like fuel, he drew his cutlass and advanced a step as he bellowed. "Now go find me some _bloody answers_!"

His audience scampered away with much speed, but no coordination, leading several of them to trip over each other or even their own feet in their retreat. He sighed as his hand passed over his face. "Smee."

Smee's large back had been receding more slowly than the others, as though he'd expected to be called upon. In truth, he probably had. His posture snapped straight as he turned. "Captain?"

"With me." His heavy boots began to slam down onto the docks.

While most of the crew were triple- and quadruple-checking the packed streets and still-open shops of the village, Hook had opted to press further. Here on the fringes of the little town, the businesses had all faded away, the huts had more and more space between them. Trees and other vegetation were starting to creep in thicker around them. Not too far ahead, the point where the road became a simple forest path had become visible. Killian clomped toward the point with determination.

Where the cobblestones ended, the dirt and leaf litter took over. That would be a much easier surface to track over, if Emma had indeed been brought this way. He pushed a branch out of his path, letting it fly free behind him, his eyes trained on the ground. Smee jumped back to avoid being hit by the swinging limb, his foot landing on a dried stick with a loud snap before the sound of his steps came to a halt.

"Captain? Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Denied. Keep moving." The footfalls resumed shuffling behind him, but he could feel the gaze digging into the back of his head. After a few minutes, it became more aggravating than he was willing to continue dealing with. Stopping short, he turned his gaze to the heavens for a moment before spinning on his heel. "Fine. What is it, Mr. Smee?"

"It's just – why would anyone release a prisoner like Swan without your leave? Seems to me like an awful lot of risk without any reward."

"There's a reward, alright," he muttered sourly before beginning to pace ahead again, this time with a more measured stride. "But the reasons are irrelevant at the moment. First, we have to find her. Then we'll learn more."

It wasn't immediately apparent that he was no longer being followed. It wasn't like he was intently listening for his crewman's footsteps. Then he heard the somewhat-too-distant, monosyllabic query, with an answer that was much bigger than the question.

"Her?"

 _Fuck._


End file.
